Step out the front door like a ghost into the fog where no one notices the contrast of white on white
And in between the moon and you, the angels get a better view, of the crumbling difference between wrong and right.
I walk in the air, between the rain, through myself and back again, where? I don’t know.
Maria says she’s dying, through the door I hear her crying, why? I don’t know.
Round here.. We always stand up straight.
Round here.. Something radiates.
Maria came from Nashville with a suitcase in here hand- said she wants to meet a boy who looks like Elvis.
She walks along the edge of where the ocean meets the land, like she’s walking on a wire in the circus.
She parks her car outside of my house, and takes her clothes off- says she’s close to understanding Jesus.
And she knows she’s more than just a little misunderstood- she has trouble acting normal when she’s nervous.
Round here.. We’re carving out our names.
Round here.. We all look the same.
Round here we talk just like lions
But we sacrifice like lambs.
Round here.. She’s slipping through my hands.